


Some Days.

by Vafertor



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint and Tash are brief and not really, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:23:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1576718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vafertor/pseuds/Vafertor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, he couldn't breathe. </p>
<p>[Bucky is the Winter Soldier but the Winter Soldier isn't so sure he's Bucky. Luckily he's not alone.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Days.

Some days, he couldn't breathe.

The past smiles and laughters, the howling commandos, the screams and crying, the howling winds. Two sides of his existence. They weighed down upon him, made him ache in the worst possible ways.

 

Some days, he was jerked away by the cold wake of his own arm.

Silver armed plates lined up in rows all the way down from the scarred plains of his chest and shoulder. A bright red, soviet star stood out. Communism. The soviet way. Or was it HYRDAs? Was there a difference?

 

Some days, he pulled the long strands of his hair out of his face a stared.

This face had smiled once. Smiled a smile so large it lit up the people around him. His eyes had trained on enemies through sniper scopes...but to...protect. No missions. No orders. Just protect his...friends?

 

Some days, he felt like he knew who Bucky was.

Bucky was James Buchanan Barnes. He hated his birthday because he hated getting gifts. He like ice cream with French fries and was certain that soup just wasn't worth eating unless you made it yourself from scratch. He was conscripted into the army, though he didn't tell Ste-

 

Some days, he remembered.

"Barnes? Barnes, is that you?"

His metal arm lashing out to grip his throat. The man chokes on his breathe, and the woman on the ground is sobbing and clawing at the ground.

"Its...it's me. It's Howard. Howard St-sta-stark."

A tightened grip.

"I know. You're my mission."

Blood. On his hands. Dripping in metronome down metal plates.

 

Some days, he was okay with being both.

"The Black Widow had 15 confirmed kills at the Red Room. I was twelve. Natalia Romanoff was a ballet dancer with a knife in her slipper."

She still called herself Black Widow. She said it was a triumph, a trophy. To those she had killed who were innocent, those who were not, and to the lives she now saved, and could not save. Hawkeye was much the same.

"The Amazing Hawkeye, at first. Kept it when I went solo. 25 confirmed before Shield found me. I was 17. Found Tash, soon after. Clint Barton was just a freak with torn jeans and a broken arrow in his pocket. For emergencies, you know. They can really take an eye out."

That was how they were, he said. Death was their business. They followed orders. No questions asked. Sometimes, it meant they never slept. But he was doing good now.

"The Winter Soldier. Dozens of confirmed kills. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Howling Commando."

They nodded at him. He smiled. Ignoring the sides of himself meant ignoring his victims. They deserved to be honored. Not forgotten as tragic accidents. He would honor them. And those he tried to save now.

 

Some days, he couldn't breathe.

 

But he kept going.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't you worry, don't you worry child...See heavens got a plan for youuuuu
> 
> That...that was what spawned this there was a point to that.


End file.
